A Study in Sinnoh
by Pan Hatta
Summary: Intrigued by a new case and a chance to trump his brother, Sherlock Holmes makes a spontaneous decision to take on the Sinnoh region. Pity he's completely clueless about Pokemon... "Pokemon are boring."
1. A Rather Simple Deduction

**Chapter 1: A Rather Simple Deduction**

'Pokémon- boring? Idiot!'

Mycroft sat in solitude at the head of the dining table, scanning the morning paper for something of interest. He exhaled nasally as he tried to take his mind off the most recent argument he'd had with his younger brother, Sherlock. He clenched his fits, crumpling the margins of the paper. Sherlock had surpassed himself this time.

* * *

"_Sherlock!"  
_

_Sherlock's eyes shot open. He gazed coldly at his sibling who stood at the doorway to his room. The young sleuth reclined further into his armchair. He held his glare as he softly slid a bow back and forth across his violin, creating a vibrant melody._

_Mycroft held his pointed nose high in the air with authority. "What on earth are you doing?" he asked in a monotonous, yet judgemental tone._

_Sherlock brought the harmonic melody to a swift close with an ear-piercing screech. "I can see your basic deduction skills are a bit rusty. I'm playing the violin."_

"_You haven't even packed yet." Mycroft glanced around the dimly lit room, __ignoring Sherlock's sly jibe_. He was well accustomed to his brother's insults.

"_Packed for what?" Sherlock asked innocently with a raised eyebrow._

_He knew too well._

"_Don't play stupid with me, Sherlock. I promised Mummy I would have you on your way to Professor Rowan's lab on time."_

"_You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," the younger Holmes replied smugly._

"_Why can't you be normal for once?" Mycroft grumbled, growing steadily more impatient. "It's every child's dream to turn eighteen just so they can begin their great Pokémon adventure, but you- oh no! You have to be difficult."_

"_I'm not being difficult; I'm being logical." Sherlock glared at his brother as he caressed his violin. "Why would I waste my time training mindless, filthy creatures when humans are currently plotting a deliciously complicated mystery or murder for me to solve? You see, this is the problem with Pokémon. Their sole purpose is either to survive in the wild or follow instructions from their trainers. Pokémon are boring."_

…

* * *

The drumming of footsteps down the wooden staircase snatched Mycroft away from his thoughts. Knowing Sherlock was fast approaching; he regained his posture and held the newspaper at a more plausible reading distance.

Sauntering into the dining room, Sherlock immediately deduced that Mycroft was still pissed off with him. Distinct crease marks around the edges of the newspaper were a result of passive anger. A half-eaten slice of burned toast with unevenly spread jam had not been touched in the past five minutes. The intensified smell of coffee was unmistakably due to an added third spoon in comparison to the normal two. The real give away however, was the use of actual sugar instead of artificial sweeteners.

Satisfied with the displeasure he had already caused his brother, Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke in an unnaturally cheerful tone. "Tell Mummy I said goodbye, Mycroft."

"Where are you going?" Mycroft asked. His voice was low and droning, like he was asking out of obligation rather than interest. Still hidden behind the wall of newsprint as he extended a make free hand to blindly grasp his cup of coffee.

Sherlock adjusted the strap on his leather satchel and tightened the collar of his tweed jacket around his silky, lilac shirt. "I'm going to Professor Rowan's lab to get my Pokémon so I can start my great adventure," he chimed in an overly eager voice.

"Pfff," Mycroft coughed and spluttered out a mouthful of coffee over his paper. It took him a moment before he could recompose himself. Laying his cup back down on the saucer, he reluctantly folded the newspaper and stared wearily at his younger sibling with his arms crossed. "Very funny. Now tell me where you are _really_ going?"

Sherlock chortled. "I told you; I'm going to Professor Rowan's lab to retrieve my first ever Pokémon."

"Twenty minutes ago you were about as open to the idea as an Amish shop on a Sunday. Now you're actually eager to get a Pokémon, or one of those 'boring creatures' you despise so much and actually go on a journey with one? Are you ill?" Mycroft's face was crumpled in confusion.

"I guess you could say I had a change of heart. And sorry for what I said earlier. No hard feelings?" Sherlock offered a reconciling hand and forced a smile which almost pushed his high cheekbones through his eyes.

Mycroft grimaced, unsure which he was more frightened of: _the_ Sherlock Holmes actually apologising to someone- him of all people, or his crazed smile which would even make the anti-Christ cringe. Still suspicious, he stood up and slowly met Sherlock's grip with his own. They shook firmly. "Well, Mummy will be pleased to know you made the correct decision. Good luck, Sherlock."

"Thank you." Suddenly, Sherlock's smile became more sinister. He unexpectedly drew Mycroft closer so that his lips were right beside his brother's ear. He squeezed Mycroft's hand forcefully. "And by the way, our little wager still stands," he whispered tauntingly.

Before Mycroft could even utter a syllable, Sherlock had pulled away from him and dashed through the entrance hall.

"Sherlock, wait! That wasn't- Sherlock!?"

Mycroft's words were cut short as Sherlock slammed the door behind him. A cool breeze met his face, ruffling his dark wisps of hair. He sniffed at the overcast September sky before walking briskly down the drive way and out the front gate.

Sandgem was a quiet town, nestled in the heart of a forest landscape, close to the mysterious Lake Verity. Flourishing hills of green laced the landscape for miles around. The town was mainly populated with gothic style houses, where a mix of young and old families had come to settle. Naturally, it was custom that everyone in the neighbourhood knew everyone else's business. This was considered the 'social norm'.

Sherlock considered this a waste of time. He did not need to consult with others. What they inaccurately passed through word of mouth, he deduced with a mere passing glance.

As he ambled down the street, he observed the townsfolk playing with their Pokémon or gardening in their front lawns. Although some of the people noticed his presence, they quickly averted their eyes, intentionally not acknowledging his existence. Sherlock was well known among the residents of Sandgem Town, but for all the wrong reasons. He had earned himself the title of the town's social outcast, an asexual being married to his incredible ability of deduction.

Sherlock did not have a particular detest for Pokémon, but rather a high disregard for their unjustified popularity and status in the world.

Although most people befriended or worked with Pokémon from an early age, everyone was entitled to receive a Pokémon at the age of eighteen from the regional professor. It was not mandatory to become a Pokémon trainer or have a Pokémon orientated profession, but more of a social standard- an expectation.

Illogical.

Sherlock still had doubts about his spontaneous decision to undertake this new adventure. Then again, the majority of decisions he made were spontaneous and outrageous to most people. Besides, training Pokémon was only a minor factor. His true motives for leaving were just too tempting.

As he ventured towards the outskirts of the town, he passed an overweight man in a navy jumper and matching sweatpants. A small, fox Pokémon skipped gleefully around the man's feet. It probably had ADD.

Resisting the urge to kick the Pokémon as it strutted over to him and sniffed his leg, Sherlock instead decided to distract himself by analysing the owner. 'Mid-forties. His bitten fingernails and thinning bald patch indicate signs of anxiety and stress. A lighter skin tone on his wedding finger- recently divorced or separated. Out of breath, flushed cheeks, over weight and injection marks on his fingertips- diabetic; the man is a ticking time bomb and could keel over from a stroke at any second,' Sherlock thought to himself, but said nothing and continued on.

Despite what others thought of him, Sherlock knew that he was a genius. It was not his fault that everyone else was too incompetent to realise it.

Deducing the flaws and secrets of other passers-by from the smallest of details, Sherlock managed to keep himself occupied on his journey to Professor Rowan's lab.

The laboratory lay on the outskirts of Sandgem town, enclosed in a red brick wall. Within its boundaries also towered a windmill, constantly turning in the valley breeze. A vast Pokémon preserve area sprawled behind the lab, stretching out as far as Lake Verity. Sherlock had remembered Mycroft babbling on about it when he began his own journey six years ago. Even at that stage, Sherlock had found more interest in collecting tobacco for 'research purposes' rather than going on a Pokémon adventure, but alas, there he was, within minutes of receiving his first Pokémon.

'I wonder if these _things_ have been toilet trained,' Sherlock pondered to himself. Not a fucking chance would he be cleaning up after them.

"Well, if it isn't the _freak_," a conceited female voice called out.

Sherlock looked up, apathetic to the insult. A young woman- eighteen to be precise, stood at the gate entrance to Professor Rowan's estate. Her fuzzy hazelnut hair was tied back with a blue tassel. She wore a white tank top and cream pants, contrasting her dark skin tone. Sherlock knew her well… unfortunately. Her name was Sally Donovan and she held the title of Sinnoh's most obnoxious cow and the runner- up award for the world's greatest imbecile, second only to Anderson.

A tubby, green Pokémon, knee height, stood on all fours by her side. It was an ugly creature that had a small stalk with two leafs- possibly its brain- sprouting from the crown of its head.

"Hello Sally," said Sherlock in his usual dry, baritone voice as he approached the woman. Glancing down at her idle Pokémon, he leaned over to have a closer look. Extending one of his pale, bony fingers, he prodded repeatedly at its beak-like mouth. "Oh, Anderson, I almost didn't see you there. You sure have grown a lot since I last saw you. Looks like you've put on a bit of weight too."

"Twig!" the Pokémon suddenly snapped back and nicked his finger.

"Little bastard," Sherlock hissed and quickly withdrew his hand, shaking off the pain.

"This here is my new Pokémon, Turtwig," said Donovan. "Although we've just met I can tell we're going to get along very well. Any Pokémon that recognises a _freak_ when it sees one deserves a place on my team."

"At least it doesn't have a sensitive nose to bitchiness or else the _thing_ would have suffocated by now," Sherlock remarked with a slight smirk, his fabulous eyes catching Donovan's in a glare battle.

"What are you doing here, freak?" she asked, disregarding his insult.

"I'm here to receive my starter Pokémon from Professor Rowan," Sherlock said in a manner that suggested it was not a big deal.

And in a sense it wasn't; It was a burden.

Sally suddenly broke out into a snort of laughter. "You… with a P-Pokémon?" She struggled to speak as she hugged her chest tightly, now chuckling uncontrollably. "Professor Rowan would never give _you_ a Pokémon. You'd probably condemn it as a murderer for catching a butterfly."

Sherlock's forked tongue was ready to strike back with a venomous remark about a touchy school incident when a deep, coarse voice boomed through the air. "Sherlock, I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up."

Both Sherlock and Sally glanced over to the entrance of the laboratory where a tall, stocky man with a lab coat and a scruffy, white moustache stood intimidatingly, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the most well-known man, not just in Sandgem Town, but all of Sinnoh. Even Sherlock recognised his powerful position and appearance, despite a lack of knowledge of anything to do with Pokémon.

It was the famous Professor Rowan.

Sherlock shot a quick smirk at Sally before abruptly shouldering passed her. "If you'll excuse me, Donovan, I have a Pokémon to collect."

"I pity the poor thing that's stuck with a freak as its trainer," Sally spat after the young Holmes boy. "You'll _kill_ it, presuming it doesn't kill you first."

"Sorry, can't hear you," Sherlock called out, raising a hand to his ear, but never turning around to face her as he strolled towards the lab entrance. "The next time you speak, try taking Anderson's balls out of your mouth first."

Donovan was left momentarily speechless. Sherlock grinned in satisfaction as she shrieked furiously before storming off in the opposite direction, leaving her Turtwig to chase after her.

Sherlock made his way to the front door of the rising building and curiously stepped inside. Stacks of storage units lined the left wall of the laboratory. A red leather sofa rested against the side of a short staircase, leading to an upper wooden decking. Three arching windows stretching across the back wall provided the large room with natural light.

Two teenage boys in lab coats stood nervously behind the central stainless steel table. Both boys wore glasses and looked almost identical in appearance. Their dimpled faces blushed a shade of scarlet as Sherlock and Professor Rowan approached them.

"Ian. Cian," Professor Rowan addressed his young apprentices. "Have all the Pokémon been fed?"

"Y-yes, Professor!"

"Of course, P-Professor!"

Their voices were high-pitched and stuttered. They both stood statue still, almost as if they were afraid to move. Even Sherlock had a certain amount of admiration for the professor's intimidating demeanour.

"Good. You can have a break while I sort Sherlock out with a Pokémon. And if you see Dr. Hooper, tell her that I need a Pokédex as soon as it's ready."

"Yes, Professor!"

"Right away, Professor!"

The twin assistants bowed respectfully before scurrying out the electronic door.

The professor turned to Sherlock, his hands still clasped behind his back. "So, Sherlock, are you ready to receive your first Pokémon?"

Sherlock forced a smile. "Yes, Professor."

"Excellent! Now, just so you know, since the other trainers arrived earlier they had preference in their choice of Pokémon. Hence, I only have one left."

"I'll take it. Whatever _it_ is," Sherlock insisted, desperate to get going.

"Hmm… Well, if you're sure." Professor Rowan walked around to the opposite side of the metal counter top so that he was facing Sherlock. He dug his hand into his long coat pocket and pulled out a miniature sphere which nestled in the palm of his hand. The ball was red on the top half and white on the bottom. A small white button was centred on the black dividing line which separated both halves. Sherlock stared attentively as the professor pressed the button, seemly causing the ball to drastically expand to the size of his open fist. Suddenly, the sphere burst open with a flash of white light.

Sherlock grimaced as a Pokémon materialised on the metal counter top. _Its_ most striking features were its large ears and the fluidity of flames which seeped out of its ass. The rest of its body looked so scrawny and malnourished; he was surprised that it could support its abnormally large head which had an uncanny resemblance to a peanut butter squash. The Pokémon gazed up at Sherlock with curiosity.

"Allow me to introduce you to your new Pokémon, Chimchar," Professor Rowan said as he gestured towards the chimp Pokémon.

Sherlock pulled a face of utter disbelief and disgust. Without a hint of consideration, he disdainfully blurted out his immediate deduction in a more abrupt manner than he realised.

"It's a fire shitting monkey."

* * *

**Long winded Author's Note:**

**First and foremost, thank you so much for reading! Really appreciate it. I've been working on this story for quite a while and now it has finally come to fruition. In case you haven't noticed, this is an AU. It takes elements from the anime, games, manga and modern day London, but mainly my own madness.**

**I will try to release chapters as frequently as I can, but as always I'm useless with that sort of stuff. This is a huge project and there may be some lulls, but please bare with me. So yeah...**

**The rating will most likely change in the future. NOTHING IS SAFE! Expect some violence, gore, adult themes, drug abuse, cringe/inappropriate references, badass-ery and innuendo, all sugarcoated with infrequent profanity. You have been warned...**

**If I were to add a third genre it would probably be "adventure", but I think mystery/drama are probably the 2 main elements. I think there's a bit of everything though...**

**For a disclaimer, I obviously don't own either Pokemon or Sherlock. Trust me, I wouldn't be here if I did! All rights go to respective owners: Nintendo, Gamefreak, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the two geniuses, Mr. Moffat and Mr. Gatiss. There will, however, be minor characters, most of whom will be my OC's and maybe even some cameos/Easter egg characters.**

**Finally, I would like to thank my Beta, Queensborough for his advise and criticism. But as always, we are only human so if you do happen to spot a mistake please tell me in a review or pm. Also, if there are any questions concerning anything to do with this fanfic don't be afraid to ask.**

**Thanks again for reading.**

**Yours truly,**

**Pan Hatta.**

* * *

**Next Chapter: Some awkward moments, trainer-Pokemon bonding time and a realisation that when it comes to Pokemon, Sherlock it totally clueless...**


	2. Clueless

**Chapter 2: Clueless**

"It's a fire shitting monkey."

Sherlock stared at his new Pokémon disdainfully. Chimchar blinked vacantly before losing interest and began to scratch its ear with its hind paw. A moment of awkward silence orchestrated through the laboratory.

"_He_." Professor Rowan finally corrected, ignoring Sherlock's blunt deduction. "_He_'s a fire- a fire type. It can take a long time for a trainer to bond with their Pokémon, especially at the beginning. Why don't you try introducing yourself?"

Sherlock glanced at the professor and then back at Chimchar. 'He's joking, right?' Sherlock glanced over at the professor again. The towering man stared expectantly back at him. 'No, he's actually serious.' Sherlock took a moment to compose himself and shook off the thought of being infested with lice. Then, forcing a smile, he offered his hand.

"Please to meet you, Monkey. My name is Sherlock and I'm _thrilled_ to be your new trainer." Sherlock was generally good at lying, but not even he could convince himself of his words.

Chimchar tilted his head as he inspected his trainer's hand. Sniffing cautiously, the chimp Pokémon licked his fingers. Sherlock's eyebrows sunk as he withdrew his hand, focusing every bit of his conscious effort into not punching the monkey in the face.

"He likes you," the professor chortled.

Sherlock's patience was wearing thin. To his great relief, the moment quickly passed as the electronic doors slid open.

"Dr Hooper, perfect timing."

Sherlock turned to see a young woman, no more than a couple of years older than himself standing at the lab entrance. A long white lab coat draped down to her knees, over her beige blouse and maroon skirt. Her mousy brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She held what looked to be a miniature, black laptop.

"Professor." She nodded sheepishly.

Her eyes then fell on Sherlock.

The young detective examined the woman inquisitively. Her eyes widened and lips trembled as their gazes locked. It seemed as though her throat had a series of palpitations.

"Sherlock Holmes." He offered his hand, a lot more sincerely than he had done with Chimchar.

The woman stared infatuated at his perfectly carved hand- so firm, yet so welcoming. She half-decided to shake his hand, but almost dropped her laptop, clumsily catching on to the edges with her fingertips. Mortified, she hugged the device close to her breast and cleared her throat. "M-Molly Hooper."

For the second time that morning Sherlock withdrew from an unanswered handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Molly."

"Dr Hooper has kindly offered to help me here in the lab as part of her research into the biology of Pokémon," Professor Rowan explained.

"Let me guess, a Pokémon Doctor?" 'Boring.'

"Pokémon pathologist," she said quickly, her eyes shifting in every direction but Sherlock's.

"Interesting." Sherlock made a sinister passing glance at the oblivious Chimchar.

"Molly, is Sherlock's Pokédex ready?" the professor asked.

"Yes, here." She hastily offered the device she had been holding to Sherlock. He took the Pokédex from her trembling hands and held it up to the light.

Molly watched curiously as he inspected the device from all angles. "I-I've updated it with the latest information and recordings."

"Excellent!" Sherlock forced smile. "So, what does it do?"

Molly and the professor exchanged worried looks before Professor Rowan spoke up. "The Pokedex is an interactive and invaluable device for every Pokémon trainer. It allows you to record new information about Pokémon by simply pointing it at one. It also provides information retrieved from previous trainers, like your brother, Mycroft for example, and blah, blah bl-blah blah…" Sherlock instantly lost interest at the mention of his brother and zoned out for the majority of the lecture. "Bl-blah blah, bl- So, is there anything else you wish to know?"

"No, I think that's everything. Anyway, I—_we_ best be off," Sherlock said impatiently and slipped the Pokédex into his coat pocket.

"Eager to start your new journey I see," said Professor Rowan expectantly. "Very well. Here's Chimchar's Pokéball, and take these too."

Sherlock was given six Pokéballs, five of which he stuffed into his other coat pocket. He then held the sixth Pokéball up to the fire chimp Pokémon and expanded the sphere in his hand. "Monkey, return."

Chimchar, who had been chasing its fiery tail around in circles came to a halt and looked confused as he was consumed by a beam of red energy. The Pokémon was sucked into his Pokéball which then retraced to the same size as the other Pokéballs.

"Well, I wish you the very best of luck, Sherlock," the professor said in his regular, coarse voice, squeezing the young sleuth's hand. "Your best bet is to head north from here to Jubilife City. From there, the world is your Cloyster."

"Thank you, Professor."

After a firm handshake (finally), Sherlock adjusted his satchel and made his way to the electronic door. "Molly." He nodded at the pathologist as he passed by.

The only response she could manage was a twitching smile.

* * *

Sherlock walked for hours, venturing around Professor Rowan's Pokémon Reserve (away from the convoluted area of Pokémon) and into the depths of the bordering forest. Little light broke through the canopy overhead, creating an eerie atmosphere. Sherlock was not phased in the slightest, determined to make it to Jubilife City before nightfall.

He was observant of his surroundings as ever. He was well aware that Pokémon were watching him off the beaten path, eyeing him suspiciously from the trees and overgrowth. But he ignored them, focusing his thoughts on more important matters, like his new case. Once he reached Jubilife, his grand investigation, the whole reason he undertook this journey in the first place, would begin.

After much thinking and some deliberating over the need for spare insoles, Sherlock decided to rest his legs and break on a smooth rock on the side of the dust trail. He rummaged through his satchel, finding a cereal bar and a seal-tight flask. It wasn't much and the tea was almost cold, but it was all he had from earlier that morning and it beat wasting time making a proper lunch in the kitchen with Mycroft snooping over his shoulder.

As Sherlock chewed on the granola bar, he took out Chimchar's Pokéball with his free hand and juggled it between his fingers. He reflected on the Pokéball and the brainless monkey that occupied it. On the upside, it was still superior to that beak freak of a plant that Sally Donovan had.

As much as he wanted to deny it, the longer he stared at the Pokéball, the more he realised the responsibility he now had for caring for this Pokémon- _his_ Pokémon- and the more he realised he didn't know where to start.

Maybe another introduction was in order?

"Monkey, out!" Sherlock put on the most intimidating voice he could muster up. It was important (or so he presumed) to make a statement as the master.

A white beam of energy shot out of the Pokéball and Chimchar materialised before him, looking as clueless as ever.

"Char?"

"Right, I know the whole first impression thing _may_ not have gone as smoothly as I'd hoped, but let's start over. My name is Sherlock and I am your supreme overlord. You are Monkey, my loyal and unquestioning servant, and – ay!" Sherlock snapped his finger when he realised not a single word he said had set in.

Chimchar was completely captivated by the bar in Sherlock's hand, staring unblinkingly at its awe. Sherlock began to wave the granola bar side to side. For a short while, he watched amusingly as the chimp's eyes moved like a metronome. Quickly losing interest in this cruel tease, Sherlock suddenly hid the bar behind his back.

"Char char chimchar!" The chimp Pokémon jumped up and down, hysterically screeching his name and pointing at his new trainer.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Fartanese," said Sherlock mockingly.

Chimchar stopped jumping and slumped his shoulders. He stared at Sherlock as his large, oval eyes began to water and his pouted lips began to tremble.

"It won't work," Sherlock said, void of any sympathy for his new partner. "I mastered that self-pity act when I was five. You're going to have to do a lot better than that."

Tears trickled down chimchar's cheeks and his sniffles turned into whimpers.

"Stop."

The chimp's eyes grew wider.

"Please stop!" Sherlock was becoming aggravated by the progressive begging.

"Oh, for pity sake! Fine!"

The young genius whose stubbornness tormented the minds of most people he met had just lost out to a 'fire shitting monkey'.

Chimchar immediately stopped crying as the half eaten granola bar came back into view. "If this makes you sick, you'll be licking it up from the inside of your Pokéball," Sherlock said grudgingly as he unwrapped the bar and tossed it into the air.

The chimp Pokémon leaped up and caught it in his mouth. He happily chewed the bar and swallowed in satisfaction. "Chim chim char," he screeched and clapped his hands.

"A simple 'thank you' wouldn't have gone astray."

"Char?"

"Is that all you can say—your name?"

Both trainer and Pokémon gaped at each other, both clueless in their own way. How was he supposed to order around a Pokémon if neither of them spoke the same language? Sherlock suddenly felt very uncomfortable and it wasn't just his ass going numb on the rock. He had never felt as out of control as he did now. He knew nothing about Pokémon and now he was stuck with one in the middle of the forest that he couldn't even understand. Not even his impeccable deduction skills could save him from this shuddering sensation. There was only one solution.

Sherlock reluctantly reached into his pocket and took out the Pokédex. He pressed a button at the side and it opened out like a book. A blue light above the inner screen flashed as he scanned Chimchar.

**Chimchar, the chimp Pokémon. Its gastric gasses are used to control the combustion and intensity of flame on its posterior. This flame dies down when Chimchar is sick.**

"Great, now tell me something that's actually useful," Sherlock said irritably to the Pokédex.

The screen suddenly changed to a page with lists of words including 'leer,' and 'ember,' and other meaningless jargon that meant nothing of importance to him.

"What is this!? I said I wanted some _useful_ information like when he'll learn how to speak fucking English!"

**Although there are myths of Pokémon learning to speak human tongue or communicating through telepathy there are no documented records; in general, Pokémon can only say their own name.**

"Oh wow, they're everything I thought they were and less," Sherlock grumbled and snapped the Pokédex closed, shoving it back into his pocket. "Alright, Monkey, back into your-"

Sherlock was just about to return Chimchar when he noticed the chimp staring off into the distance, his ears twitching attentively, alert to something.

It was then he heard it too. At first the noise was so faint, it could have easily been lost among the other sounds of the forest- the rustling of a Pokémon scampering through a nearby thicket or a gentle breeze tickling the leaves above. But then it became more distinct – a yell – a cry for help!

Before Sherlock could even react, Chimchar screeched loudly and dashed down the path. "Monkey? Monkey, wait!" He grabbed his satchel and joined the pursuit, completely unaware that the person he was running towards would change his life, for better or for worse.

* * *

**A/N: Guess who, you sexy Smunchkins?**

**Some feedback on what you people think of the story so far would be gratefully received. If you're allergic to reviewing, don't worry, I have plenty of antihistamines in stock. I'm just that nice! Alternatively, PM's are cool too.**

**I'm going to try to make Saturday releases a "thing". We'll see how long this lasts... (Here's to hoping!)**

**As always, thanks for reading,**

**Pan Hatta**

* * *

**Next Chapter: A showdown (boring), music (boring), ethanol (bor- oh, wait! That could be fun?) and more deductions (boring). I guess it's kind of like a saloon scene in a spaghetti western, but without the tumbleweed... and a saloon? Stay tuned!  
**


	3. The Perfect Pitch

**Chapter** **3: The Perfect Pitch**

"Monkey, slow down!"

Sherlock had been chasing Chimchar through the forest for at least ten minutes. He was unaccustomed to such strenuous exercise and all this running was starting to take its toll. A second pair of insoles were definitely needed.

Chimchar suddenly strayed off the forest path and scurried through a maze of trees. His large ears twitched as he followed the echoes of desperate cries. Sherlock could just about keep sight of his Pokémon as the surrounding vegetation grew denser. He cursed and snarled as he batted away loose branches and dangling brambles that snagged at his mop of hair. Wild Pokémon screeched and cooed, startled by all the commotion.

After a brief tug-of-war with a branch over his satchel, Sherlock finally stumbled out of the clustered woods and into a clearing. Quickly composing himself, he observed his surroundings. The most obvious feature, or absence rather, were the cries for help which had seemingly stopped. Only the soft, whistling breeze against the branches filled the silence. The glade itself was small, but the break in the overhead canopy allowed a natural light to flood in.

As he cautiously walked across the field, Sherlock noticed that the ground had been recently trampled on. "One human; three - no - four creatures with thin appendages—probably Pokémon," he said as he stooped over the trodden ground and stroked the muddy footprints. "They can't be more than five minutes away from here."

"Char! Char!"

Sherlock glanced at Chimchar who was now scampering off in a different direction, occasionally glancing back at his trainer, beckoning him to follow. Sherlock scowled before resuming the chase. He would have to lay down some ground rules later.

After another battle with the forest's maze of branches and thorns, Sherlock and Chimchar had managed to find their way back to the main path.

"Hey, over here! Help us, please!" a voice cried out from up ahead.

Sherlock brushed down his coat and pants before observing the situation.

A young man was backed up against a tree, motioning desperately at the young detective to come to his aid. A petite, pink Pokémon with a pointy blue hat and red button nose peered out from over the man's mousy blonde hair, trembling with fear. The pair were pinned against the tree trunk with nowhere to escape as three large cockroach Pokémon surrounded them, hissing threateningly. They whetted their orange, blade-like appendages, creating a high pitched sound, displeasing to the ear.

Sherlock's eyes passed to and fro between the bug Pokémon and their prey. Unsure of what he was supposed to do, he resignedly checked his Pokédex:

**Kricketune, the cricket Pokémon and the evolved form of Kricketot. By crossing its knifelike arms it can create a melody to signal its emotion.**

"Char! Chim chimchar!"

The three cockroach Pokémon came to a sudden stop and glanced back at Chimchar. The chimp Pokémon caught their attention, screeching and waving at them. He then coughed up a small flame before growling at them threateningly.

"Monkey, what are you doing!?" Sherlock hissed through his gritted teeth. His body stiffened as the bug Pokémon noticed his presence.

The young man and his pink Pokémon glanced nervously at Sherlock, still hugging the tree in fear. His chest palpitated as he tried to calm his body.

Suddenly, one of the oversized cockroaches screeched furiously and lunged at Chimchar. The startled chimp shrieked in surprise and leaped backwards, narrowly escaping the slicing orange scythe. Whimpering, Chimchar retreated back to Sherlock and hid behind his legs.

Sherlock glared down at his Pokémon. "Congratulations, you actually have a lower IQ than Sally Donovan."

The three Krickatune were now advancing towards Sherlock, crossing their blades even faster than before, the screeching almost unbearable. Chimchar covered his ears in pain. Sherlock winced against the deafening noise. He inhaled deeply, trying to ignore it as his mind worked frantically, searching for a solution.

"What are you doing!? Get out of there!" the man cried out.

"Mime mime!" the pink Pokémon squeaked.

"Quiet! I'm thinking," Sherlock yelled, raising his hands impatiently.

The Kricketune neared closer, poised to strike at any second.

"Come on, come on. Think!" Sherlock encouraged himself. His flow of thought then broke into intermittent mutters. "There must be… No, no… emotions… emotions! Yes! F major- no sharp! Half time…Yes!"

The stranger stared confused at the young detective as he mumbled to himself.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly opened and he smiled in triumph. To everyone's surprise he took a deep breath and began to whistle a slow, pleasant melody. The Kricketune gradually stopped screeching and looked inquisitively at each other. Glancing back at Sherlock, they rubbed their scythes together, this time more gently, mimicking his soft tune.

The stranger and his Pokémon looked on in disbelief.

A symphony of pleasant notes chimed through the forest. Everything became so tranquil. As the melody came to a close the three bug Pokémon bowed respectfully at Sherlock before dashing off into the vast forest and out of sight.

Chimchar cautiously emerged from behind Sherlock, making sure the coast was clear.

"What was that?" the stranger asked, looking at Sherlock inquisitively.

"I believe they are called Kri- Kricka- something," the sleuth trailed off disinterested and he stared off in the direction the Kricketune had fled.

"No, not that. How did you calm them down?"

"Oh, _that_. Well it was quite simple really," Sherlock said, finally returning his gaze to the young man.

"Simple?"

"Quite. You see, from that bit of trivia my Pokédex gave me I was able to deduce that the Kricka…thingys were angry, given the dissonant tones they displayed. All I had to do was figure what key they were playing in. The rest is pretty obvious."

"Right…" The man nodded thoughtfully for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No, I'm completely lost."

Sherlock took a quick breath before giving a more elaborate explanation. "According to my Pokédex, the Kricka-_whatever_ display their emotions through the sounds they make. They were making a dissonant, harsh sounding melody with no real tempo- obviously angry. Once I recognized the key their tune was in- F sharp, it was just a matter of recomposing it in a more consonant, calming tone with a slower rhythm, showing I meant no harm."

The dumbfounded stranger just stood there momentarily, trying to digest his words. "That's… amazing," he eventually confessed. "I don't know how we can ever thank you, Mr- err…"

"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes."

"John Wattson." They shook hands. "And this here is Mime Jr."

"Mi-mime mime!" The pink Pokémon resting on his shoulder chimed happily and waved at the young detective.

Sherlock grimaced at the sight of it.

"Chimchar!" the fire chimp Pokémon cried out for attention.

"Hello there," John greeted, kneeling down to meet the fire Pokémon. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "My name's John and this is Mime Jr. We're both very grateful for what you did. It was very brave of you to stand up to those Krickatune like that."

The Chimchar scratched his tuft of head hair and blushed .

"Hmm…" Mr. Wattson's eyes closely examined the chimp. "This is obviously a young Chimchar- no more than a couple of months old, yet his thick fur and healthy rear flame suggest he's been raised domestically. He isn't one of Professor Rowan's starter Pokémon by any chance, is he?"

"Nice observation," Sherlock admitted. "Monkey and I have only been acquainted quite recently."

"Thought so," John said, proud of his own guess work. "By the way, I probably should have mentioned that I'm-"

"A Pokémon doctor in training? Yeah, I got that," Sherlock said passively.

John slowly stood up straight, his lips quivering in puzzlement. "_How_?"

"The indents on your thumb and between your middle and index finger tell me you work with syringes. Whatever soap you use reeks of ethanol. Of course, it's a disinfectant. Syringes, hygienic- must work in the medical profession. Even though you're left handed, there are several nicks and grazes on your right hand, suggesting you're still nervous, possibly from lack of hands-on experience- a trainee doctor. As for the Pokémon part, well that's obvious."

"Obvious?"

"Yes," Sherlock continued, "Your ability to examine Monkey and boast your knowledge, the Pokémon on your shoulder and not mention the fact that every _bloody_ career in the world is to do with Pokémon says you're a trainee Pokémon Doctor. Obvious"

"That's… that's?" John slowly shook his head, lost for words.

"That's deduction," Sherlock said smugly, the right side of his lip curling up in satisfaction.

"You got all that information from those tiny details? What else can you _deduce_ about me?"

"_Everything_." Sherlock's smiled widened as his eyes casted over John Wattson in his entirety, reading into every last detail about him as if he were a book. He took a quick sniff of fresh forest air before speaking.

"Your watch tells me quite a bit about you, John; in fact it tells me almost everything about you. It tells me you're from Hoenn."

John's jaw dropped. His eyes flickered between his watch and Sherlock.

"The watch itself is at least thirty years old," the sleuth continued. "Expensive. Eight of the silver links have been replaced over time, but the cover glass has never been removed. That's the real give away. If you look closely you'll notice the edges of the glass are a faded grey colour. This is the trademark of a specialist glass workshop located in Northern Hoenn, near Fallarbor Town. Of course, you could have just bought this watch anywhere- but no! This was crafted specifically in that glass workshop for a present, a wedding gift from your deceased mother to your father. How am I doing so far?"

"How could you possibly know that my mother is dead!?" John's heart thumped rampantly against his rib cage as he stared intently into Sherlock's eyes.

"Very easily, John Wattson. Your boot-cut pants, your polished steel-capped shoes, your inner vest, combed hair, cleanly shaved. Your mother wasn't around to teach you about style, but your father was there to make sure you were presentable. He pressed you to be the best you could and like all teenagers you were desperate to escape. That's why you moved to study medicine in Sinnoh. When you turned eighteen your father couldn't force you to stay so he gave you his most treasured possession; this watch."

"Incredible," John gasped, his eyes fixed on Sherlock in an empty gaze. His body was paralysed in awe. "Th-that was incredible."

"That's my job," Sherlock said before propping his jacket collar. He glanced up at the through the gap in the overhead canopy, noticing the sky had turned a twilight orange. "Anyway, we best be off. By the way, in future, you'd best keep Funny Face, here, away from wild berries that don't belong to it. Unless you want another group of oversized bugs chasing you, that is?"

The Mime Jr shrunk behind John's shoulder, its face riddled with guilt as it licked away a berry juice stain at the corner of its lip.

"Come, Monkey." Without another thought Sherlock strode passed a stunned John. Chimchar hesitantly followed.

Mere seconds later, Sherlock came to a halt and called back to Wattson. "By the way, do you know whereabouts the Pokémon League is?"

John blinked momentarily, slowly zoning back to reality. "Oh, the Lily of the Valley Conference?"

"Yes, I think? I have some business to take care of in Jubilife City, but after that I'd like to challenge the League."

"Oh, well it's quite a trek from here. The League's located on Lily of the Valley Island, north of Sunyshore City in the north-east of Sinnoh."

"Thank you." Sherlock nodded and strolled down the path once more.

"No problem," John said with an inquisitive look, before shrugging dismissively. "I didn't even realise you had eight badges."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks once more. The unsuspecting Chimchar crashed into his legs with a surprised shriek and bundled over. Sherlock turned to face the trainee doctor, his expression filled with anxiousness.

"Eight _what_?"

* * *

**A/N: 10 points to anyone who gets the reference made in an intentional misspelling.**

**As always, thanks for reading!**

**Pan Hatta-**

* * *

**Next Chapter: Sherlock struggles with the idea of having a friend and an unconventional, yet super effective narcotic.**


	4. Psychic High

**Chapter 4: Psychic High**

"_You can't be serious!?_"

Sherlock chewed a sweet potato as he tried to comprehend what John was saying. "So it's _not_ an arm wrestle against a gym junkie?"

"No!" John groaned and massaged his eyes. "It's a _Pokémon_ battle; your _Pokémon_ do the _battling_!"

"Well that's boring."

"I'm- I'm sorry, but this doesn't make any sense," John said, shaking his head incredulously. "I mean, you appear out of nowhere, save us from a bunch of angry Kricketune, figure out my life story from just looking at my watch, but yet you plan on challenging the League with absolutely no knowledge about Pokémon!?"

"It would seem so," Sherlock said flatly.

"Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

John sighed in frustration. "No, I mean, I know who you are. But what you did back there- in the forest- it was extraordinary. You can't _just_ be a Pokémon trainer."

"Nice deduction." Sherlock relaxed back into his cushioned seat and clasped his hands together. "You're right. I'm a consulting detective."

"Oh." John averted his eyes to the table, briefly lost in thought. "I've never heard of a consulting detective."

"Of course you haven't; I'm the only one in the world," the detective declared with a proud grin.

"So what exactly does a _consulting_ _detective_ do?"

"I solve mysteries and murders that others are too incompetent to figure out. _Strictly_ _human_," said Sherlock, reverting to a more serious tone.

"And by incompetent others you mean random strangers?" John probed, intrigued by this new, interesting profession.

"Sometimes, but mainly the police force and government officials."

"The G-Men!? The very men that run this region ask _you_ for help!?" John gawped at Sherlock.

"Baffling, isn't it?"

The young doctor smiled to himself. Every time he thought he had Sherlock figured out, he revealed another surprise about himself. "So, any big cases at the moment?"

Sherlock's entire body stiffened. He slowly pressed his hands on the counter-top and breathed heavily. His eyes flickered around the room, searching for an excuse to evade answering the question. He was not prepared to reveal his true motives to a stranger, even if he probably knew more about John in the space of a minute than his father had his whole life.

"Nurse Jane!" Sherlock suddenly jumped off his seat and greeted the approaching nurse in relief.

"Nurse Joy," she corrected in a soft, embarrassed tone.

"Nurse Joy, my apologies." Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Chansey!" A fat pink Pokémon sang its name as it wheeled a tray over to the table, carrying Mime Jr and three Pokéballs.

"All of your Pokémon have been fed and are in perfect condition," the nurse said with a cheerful smile.

The clown Pokémon sprang off the trolley and on to the table, twirling elegantly over to John before leaping on to his shoulder. John took two of the Pokéballs from the tray and attached them to his belt. "Thank you very much."

"Thanks," Sherlock muttered in a barely audible tone as he quickly grabbed Monkey's Pokéball and stuffed it in his pocket.

"My pleasure. Will you two be staying the night?" Nurse Joy asked. "You're free to stay in one of the rooms in the back at no cost as long as you can prove you're a Pokémon trainer."

John reached into his inner jacket and took out a white identification card. "Medic student."

"That's perfect, and how about you?" She turned expectantly to the consulting detective.

"Err…" Sherlock glanced nervously between the nurse and the window. It was pitch black outside and he had no intentions of spending the night alone in the forest amidst those filthy, wild creatures.

"Your Pokédex," John said promptly. "It's also your Pokémon Trainer ID."

Sherlock dug his hand into his coat pocket before producing his Pokédex, waving it tellingly by his face.

"Excellent! The men's dorms are down the back corridor to the right. Feel free to stay here as long as you want. The only thing is that I'm afraid I'll have to charge you for the meals. With all the recent government cutbacks we're not able to provide as many free services as before. I'm very sorry."

"That's fine," John said with a reassuring smile and searched through his pockets.

The government, eh? Sherlock thought to himself. "Not to worry. Let me get this!"

"No, no, I couldn't possibly let you do that. You've already saved our lives today."

"I _insist_!"

Before John could protest any further, Sherlock had already swapped his Pokédex for his wallet and was flicking through its inner sleeves. "Here you go," he said, handing a golden credit card and a folded piece of paper to the nurse. "You can charge any costs to this, including our breakfast in the morning. The card details are on the sheet. I'll collect it from you tomorrow, just before we leave."

"You really don't have to do this," John said, almost embarrassed as he stood up from the table.

"Don't worry about it. It's my pleasure, _honestly_." Sherlock's words were assertive as he began to coax the trainee doctor towards the back of the Pokémon Centre.

"Have a good night's sleep Mr- eh?" Nurse Joy winced at the credit card. "Mycroft Holmes."

John's face contorted in confusion. "Mycroft!? B-but-? Wait!"

"Come along now, Wattson! We've all had a long day." Sherlock hurriedly shoved John Wattson into the back corridor before calling back to Nurse Joy.

"La'ers!"

* * *

"A travelling partner?" Sherlock reflected on John's proposition.

It was some time after eleven the following morning before they had left the Pokémon Centre. They were back on the forest path, gradually heading northwards towards Jubilife City. The sky was slightly overcast with many grey clouds smudging the white blanket above.

"Well I'm on outdoor experience until the end of January and you—well it's obvious you know absolutely nothing about Pokémon. No offense."

"None taken," Sherlock muttered indifferently.

"Look, I can help you! Caring and raising Pokémon is my job," John said, trying to reason.

Sherlock turned swiftly around to face the trainee doctor, staring intently into his eyes. "John, I know you're just trying to help, but you don't know me- the _real_ me."

A lump began to form in John's throat. "What's the real you?"

"Think about it. I'm a consulting detective. Solving murders isn't just my job; it's my life. I _live_ for it. The motives, the crime, the puzzle; I thrive off them. They take away my boredom and give me a purpose, something that a 'friend' could never do. I appreciate the offer, but I'm a poison. I'm _bad_ for you, John Wattson. You're better off without me." With those words, Sherlock turned on his heels and marched down the mucky path once more.

John stood motionless, staring off into the distance as the young detective moved further away until the path veered left and he was out of sight.

"Mi mime," Mime Jr whimpered, gazing up at John with tearing eyes.

* * *

Sherlock took brisk strides, determined to make it to Jubilife City before nightfall. 'Travelling partners?' he thought with a dismissive smile. 'He'd only slow me down.' Sherlock tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, but a part of him had always wondered what a true friend would be like, a person to be there by his side and stand up for him in his time of need, despite his arrogant nature. He shook his head. A person could never be a friend with a genius- a _freak_ like him.

A rustle in the trees up ahead caused Sherlock to stop suddenly. He stood still and watched anxiously as a Pokémon emerged from the foliage, mere feet in front of him. It was a brown-fur quadruped with a large black nose and curvy antlers. The Pokémon was soon joined by more of its species as they too moved cautiously out of the forest's camouflage.

"It's a bit early for Christmas," Sherlock said under his breath as several of these reindeer eyed him suspiciously. Sherlock was about to reach for his Pokédex, when something strange caught his attention.

His gaze fell on the caribou Pokémons' quivering antlers which glimmered a rainbow shine, like hoops brimming with washing up liquid.

A strange feeling overwhelmed his body. His vision started to blur and his blood tingled beneath his skin. Unable to turn his head he instead tried to call out to someone- John. He opened his mouth. Nothing.

_His throat was dry, his tonsils scratching off the bottom of his windpipe like sand paper. The sleuth was now rooted to the spot, his body swaying. His mind was transfixed on breathing. The trees around him started to curve and blur. The herd of Pokémon faded into nothing more than brown smudges and his entire surroundings seemed to fold in on one another in a kaleidoscope of colours._

_Sherlock sunk his head into his palms, groaning deliriously. When he forced his eyes open again, everything was black. He stood alone in a dark void of nothingness._

"_John?" he cried out weakly. "Anyone?"_

_There was no answer to his echoed calls._

_Sherlock slapped himself in the face, trying to make sense of everything._

_Suddenly, yellow dots emerged out of the darkness and stretched out like horns similar to those of the reindeer Pokémon. The antler shapes began to dance around Sherlock slowly creeping closer until they were literally passing through his curious hand like wisps of smoke. They spun around him, faster and faster, blending into one another, trapping him in a twister of yellow. A bizarre melody rung out through his ears, even more harsh and unsteady than the Krickatunes' he'd encountered the previous day. Sherlock became disorientated as the swirling haze of yellow shone blindingly._

_With a sharp screech and a bright flash of light, the sleuth stumbled backwards and slumped into a seat._

_Everything fell silent._

_Sherlock frantically glanced around his new setting- a somewhat familiar place._

_He was seated in the witness box of a court room. The blue carpet, the side rows for the jurors, the whitewash columns supporting the corners of the giant hall; it was almost exactly as how he knew it, but something was different. He felt as though he had no control here. Impossible; he always had control here! The place was his after all. Also, nothing seemed completely solid. The very wooden lectern in front of him seemed like a hazy mirage that could be blown away with a quick huff. He slowly stretched out his hand, ready to test this distorted reality when an all too familiar, snobbish voice pricked his ears._

"_Fancy meeting you here?"_

_Sherlock cocked his head back and winced at the sight of his older brother who stood in the judge's stand, glaring down at him with condescending eyes. Unlike everything else around him, Mycroft actually seemed real._

"_Wh-what are y-you doing 'ere?" Sherlock stammered in a drunken manner._

"_I've come to make sure that you're doing alright. I'm very concerned you know," Mycroft said in a disinterested tone._

"_I-I'm fine." Sherlock's hand passed through the stand in front of him like a hologram as he made a failed attempt to steady himself. He followed through and his body slumped lifelessly over his lap. "What are you doing in my… in m-my mind pal- eh?"_

"_As I said, I'm concerned for you. You're high, Sherlock," Mycroft scowled. "You need to snap out of this before you choke on your own vomit."_

"_You can't tell me what to do. You're not even real," Sherlock said stubbornly. He kept his head between his legs, his eyes fascinated by his knotted shoe laces. In protest he raised his arm and shook his finger._

"_Well, if I'm not real then I must be the little part of your conscious that has not been affected by this sedative," the illusory Mycroft reasoned. "Look at where you are. Your mind is trying to fight off whatever this is. You must snap out of it!"_

_Sherlock suddenly leapt out of his chair and stumbled against the judge's stand which actually supported him. It was completely solid. He stroked the furnished wood. "You're right. No, wait, you're just part of my consciousness so I'm right!" he said triumphantly and giggled to himself._

"_Modest as ever." The fictional Mycroft rolled his eyes._

"_I'll just slap myself out of this!" Sherlock smacked his cheeks, missing half the time and accidently flicking his nose._

"_That won't work," Mycroft said impatiently. "You need to induce your mind with a powerful thought, something so heinous, so repulsive that it could literally induce vomiting."_

"_Pokémon?"_

"_Now we're getting somewhere." Mycroft began to dissolve into the background._

_Without warning the different elements of the distorted room began to mingle together, meshing their shapes and colours. Sherlock was surrounded by darkness once more. Mycroft, the courtroom, it had all disappeared leaving nothing but the consulting detective and a giant green blob._

_Sherlock stared google-eyed as the globular apparition in front of him began to take shape. He began to feel nauseous, struggling to control his breathing as he soon recognised that gawping beak-like mouth and the rest of its grotesque head. The real stomach churner was that the stalk on top of its head seemed to wriggle like a worm. It was the face of Sally Donovan's Pokémon, and at that moment, it was the most repulsive thing Sherlock could possibly conceive. The Pokémon head seemed to look at the sleuth suspiciously._

"Sherlock_?" His voice was very familiar, but definitely not that of a Pokémon._

"Sherlock_?" He asked again, full of concern._

"_Oh God!" Sherlock cupped his mouth as his entire stomach contents surged up his gullet._

"Haaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggghhhhhh!"

Sherlock was hunched over the forest floor. He choked for air as chunks of the morning's breakfast spluttered out of his mouth. His fingers clawed at the muddy ground, raking the dirt as he continued to lurch at the stench of fresh puke. His only comfort was knowing that he was back to reality.

"You're alright. Get it all out."

Sherlock immediately identified the voice as a comforting hand rubbed his back.

"John," he gasped, his lungs still struggling for air. "What- what are you doing here," he managed to say before more vomit projected out of his mouth.

"That's not important. Here, drink some water or you'll become dehydrated."

John handed a bottle of water to Sherlock who hastily grabbed it and tried to swallow a gulp full, only to instantly cough it up again. He spat out the burning after taste of sick and moaned wearily. After a few deep breaths as he gazed up into the sky. It was getting noticeably dark. He must have been out of it for hours. Finally, the detective looked back at John.

"You followed me? You saved me? You stayed with me… _Why_?"

John averted his eyes. "Because that's what friends do."

Sherlock was unsure how to respond. He didn't know how to feel. A knew, alien emotion took over his body. He'd never thought of anyone considering themselves as his friend before.

"What happened?" John finally asked trying to break the tension.

Sherlock closed his eyes trying to think. "There were these- eh… Pokémon? They looked like reindeer?"

John closed his eyes and nodded understandingly. "Stantler, of course."

"Care to elaborate?"

"When I found you, you were stumbling around in circles. You were completely oblivious to your surroundings and muttering nonsense," John said, chuckling to himself. "You must have encountered some Stantler- reindeer-like Pokémon, right?"

"Yes, but what made me hallucinate?" Sherlock asked in frustration that he still could not understand. "There was no powder, smoke, needles… I don't get it!?"

"Psychic," John said simply.

"What?"

"If Stantler feel threatened they release odd waves of psychic energy that often cause hallucinations," John said, "but I've never heard of anyone react in the same manner as you did. In fact, if I hadn't known any better, I would have said you were on acid." He smirked at the thought.

Sherlock laughed nervously. What he had just experienced was far greater than acid.

"Anyway…" John suddenly got to his feet and walked towards the edge of the path.

"John, wait! Where are you going?" Sherlock asked nervously.

"I'm going to look for some fire wood. Mime Jr can keep you company." John continued towards the woods.

"John?"

The doctor stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Thank you."

"Don't mentioned it," John said with a smile, a smile that for some reason made the young sleuth feel uneasy. "Rest up, Sherlock Holmes. You've got a long day of training ahead of you tomorrow."

"Training?"

Sherlock's stomach churned and his face turned a green hue.

"Bluurrrrrgh!"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the delay. I spent ages editing trying to leave in the essentials while still making it interesting. Hopefully it was ok?**

**If you enjoyed this or thought it could improve in some ways I would love some feedback. If you like this don't forget to follow and fave!**

** Leobutler- There will not be a Johnlock ship, but there will be many bromance moments, both comical and serious (as seen in this chapter).**

**Until the next time,**

**Pan Hatta.**

* * *

**Next Chapter: Sherlock learns the basics in Pokémon training. Easy, right?**


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